


Lovers in Arms: Heero & Trowa Short Stories

by Stitched_Inside (relativelyunknown)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Adult and Underage Pilot Stories, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Drama & Romance, M/M, One Shot Collection, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relativelyunknown/pseuds/Stitched_Inside
Summary: A collection of short 1x3 drabbles and one shots inspired by prompts (featured as chapters). Musings and exploration of the character's potential relationship during after the wars ... and maybe some smoochies.





	1. Drabbles

 

_Drabble I_  
**THE BIG GUNS**  
  
  


“You're sure you want this one?” Trowa asked, looking up at the OZ Mercurious suit with a skeptical frown. It was clear that he didn't like the suit design much. Neither did I.

I glanced over my shoulder at the OZ soldiers standing on the catwalk nearby and lowered my voice so that they wouldn't be able to hear me. After all, I was supposed to be a prisoner and taking orders from the new ACE pilot and officer Trowa Barton, not conspiring with him.

“Yeah, you take the blue one. It's got a gun anyway, that's right up your alley,” I murmured, gesturing to the massive backpack-fed beam cannon clutched in the hand of the atrocious blue suit.

Trowa smirked and crossed his arms over his enemy-styled tight blue spacesuit.

“I do like the big guns,” he teased, his voice barely audible, “and guys who carry them.”

I couldn't help but smile at him, then quickly wiped the look off of my face before anyone saw it.

“I've got two, and they're HUGE,” I taunted back.

“Yeah. I know, I've seen them… _ worked _ on them,” Trowa replied playfully.

I bit my lower lip and looked away, my fingers twitching. I wanted to touch him, to brush his hair from his eyes like I had boldly done a few months back when we were hiding out in the circus. Right after he had saved me…

But I couldn't. I resisted. To do so would blow our cover. Nobody could know that their newest officer and the prisoner of war were making sexual innuendos and flirting with each other on the catwalk.

 

 _Drabble II_  
**GOING SOLO**  
(Warning: Pilots Underage, sexual content, masturbation.)  
  


 

“I've missed so much,” Catherine was sobbing into Trowa's shoulder for the fourth time that day.

The day that, supposedly, her brother had gone missing during an attack on their family’s caravan years ago.

Apparently Cathy baked when she was upset. With the memory of that day, along with the fact that she was entirely convinced that Trowa was her long lost brother brother, she had taken to the small kitchen in the trailer to took away at the stove for over an hour, producing two types of brownie, a chocolate mousse, fruit tarts and a questionable looking bread pudding.

I waited patiently for Trowa to spoon another scoop of mousse into my mouth, as I was unable to eat due to my two broken wrists. Well, I  _ could _ attempt to do it myself but it would have ended up all over the sheets, which Trowa'd announced that morning he had no desire to change again. (I had thrown up my medication three times in a row. He’d become frustrated with me.)

“You shouldn't cry over the past,” Trowa tried to soothe her but only managed to sound cold and distant. She didn't seem to notice. Pushing herself off of his shoulder, she wiped her nose with the sleeve of her blouse and coughed.

“I hate this. War. Fighting. Look at what it's done to us, to  _ you _ .” She pointed at me. I must have been a sight, bandaged and bruised, sitting in the middle of the bed being fed like a baby bird. “You both should be in school, worrying about your next math test, not talking at all hours of the night about battlefield strategies.”

_ Shit, she'd heard us? _

“It breaks my heart,” she grumbled, pacing the room, searching the floor for her shoes. When she found them she picked them up and waved them in the air as she spoke. “You both don't care, but that's because you don't know any better. It's not your fault, but…” She was warring with her words. It seemed she decided that retreat was her best option. With a frustrated huff she stomped across the trailer and left, slamming the door loudly behind her, causing Trowa to startle and drop a lump of chocolate onto my lap, soiling the perfectly crisp, white sheets.

“Shit,” Trowa snarled, standing, searching for something to wipe it up with. I tried to wipe the mess with a cloth he had been using to dab my mouth. It only made it worse.

“No… just. Just stop.” He batted at my bandaged hands and started to peel the dirty top sheet off over my lap. The cloth dragged against my bare lap, signaling my dick to perk almost immediately. I blushed and tried to cover my growing arousal with my hand.

It wasn't the first time that had happened. Trowa thought it had something to do with the swelling of my brain, but occasionally I would spring a boner at the slightest touch. Or just for no reason, much like any teenage boy I guess, only more often.

It was embarrassing. Especially having another kid being your caretaker.

He hadn't said much about it. This time, though, as he balled up the sheet in his hands he looked down at my hands, eyeing my weak attempt to cover it up.

“... You know, I could help you with that.”

I lost my breath. He was biting his lip, looking away. Was he embarrassed, too?

What was he proposing?

I tried to cross my bruised legs. “No… it's fine.”

“Okay,” Trowa said quickly, turning to leave. “I'll be back. I'm… going to take my time,” he added, glancing over his shoulder before he stepped out of the trailer.

Leaving me alone.

I may have had a concussion and slight memory loss from the blast but I wasn't stupid.

He was giving me time to  _ take care _ of it myself.

Something I hadn't done since coming under his care.

I was getting aroused a lot the past few days. Maybe jacking off would help to stop it from happening so often?

I sighed, waited a minute to see if anyone would be returning and with great care wrapped my aching fingers around my hardness. Oh, fuck, was I sensitive. I jumped at my own touch, sighed, tried to ignore the pain in my arms and legs and just focus on anything else to get off as quickly as I could.

The truth was I had very little experience with masturbating then. Brainwashing had taught me not to  _ interfere _ with myself, viewing it as a distraction to my mission. Any drive I had was beaten out of me, rebranded as weakness. Aside from that, I can't even remember a time when I was attracted to anyone. I hadn't known anyone the same age as me of the opposite sex before Relena, and had no other peers or contact with anyone outside of the CLO training staff. I also had my puberty postponed. I hadn't realized it at the time, but shortly after running out of my assigned rations and 'performance aids’ (pills I took daily for years) I began to feel different. More emotional, reckless. I started growing pubic hair, my voice was cracking, all of which started a few weeks after descent from the colonies. I stupidly thought it may have been the Earth environment messing with me, or maybe the stress of the mission, but now that I had nothing to do but sit there in the trailer for days on end, thinking with no distractions, I came to realize that they had been suppressing me.

I was going through puberty lately. It was terrible. I thought I smelled, I never felt clean, and I was having the most perverse and graphic dreams I had ever had in my life.

Dreams about Relena, dreams about Catherine, and lately nonstop fantasies about Trowa.

I felt a shock of energy race through my body at the sound of his name spoken by my voice within the cave of my own mind.

I had never given sexuality a thought before then, but one thing was becoming apparent. I found women attractive, but I desired a man to touch me. Or, more specifically my fellow pilot, the only person on the planet that I could trust.

I moaned and bit my tongue in an attempt to silence myself as I stroked my throbbing cock, thinking of Trowa as he tended to me, wiped my face, spoke softly into my ear as he massaged my scalp while cleaning my hair.

Nobody in my life had ever given me such care before. For as long as I could remember I was made to take care of myself, to be self-sufficient, to provide for my own welfare. And yet here was this kid, protecting me, caring for me.

And he was hot. Unusually attractive, elegant, beautifully masculine one moment yet soft, almost demure the next.

I had never met anyone so complex, giving, thoughtful, or capable before.

Day in and day out I had nothing left to do but plan my next mission and watch Trowa as he went about his day. I loved it, observing him when he thought I wasn't looking, studying the slight changes in his face as he spoke, attempting to hide his emotions from me.

He didn't realize that he and I were cut from the same cloth. I knew him well, he was the same as me.

Innocent but trying to walkthrough a violent world with his head on straight, trying to make sense of the uncertainty that was our futures.

He was worried about me. He didn't have to say it, I could read it in his actions, his gestures. His offers. He was selfless like that, I could tell.

He had offered to  _ help _ me with my erection. Who does that?

Who the hell was I to tell him no?

My brain became flooded with images of Trowa’s slender, cool fingers stroking up my shaft, his full lips opening, pink tongue peeking out, prepared to take me into his mouth and-

I came all over my hand.

Looking down, embarrassed though having no audience to witness me, I tried to clean it up. It was leaking down my arm, threatening to drop onto the clean sheets behind me. Desperate not to let Trowa down and ruin yet another sheet, I lifted my arm and hurriedly licked the trail of my own cum off of the bandage on my wrist before my thoughtful caretaker returned.

 

_Drabble III_  
**BLANK SLATE**

Trowa didn't remember any of us.

I watched from my open cockpit as everyone congregated around Trowa, happy to see that he had returned. He wasn't whole —wasn't complete. He still didn't remember any of us, but had come with Quatre to join the fight out of a sense of duty he couldn't really explain. Maybe it was the blond pilot’s sincere, trustworthy nature that had finally convinced Trowa to come?

It was clear by Trowa's body language that he was uncomfortable around the others. He kept glancing up at my mobile suit as if he were frightened of it. Had he ever been this close to a Gundam in the memories that still existed within his damaged mind? Or maybe, even with amnesia, he knew a machine of death and destruction when he saw one.

Quatre was introducing Trowa to everyone, pointing out the suits waiting nearby in the hangar, holding his arm reassuringly as he took it all in. Duo was his usual self, cracking jokes, smiling as he welcomed him back. Wufei was guarded, distant. I didn't blame him, he never trusted Trowa much in the first place.

I didn't go down to greet them. I didn't know what to say. Nothing I did or said now would change the fact that Trowa didn't remember me. All of our months working together, the missions we had faced side by side meant nothing now. The fact he had saved my life — twice now thanks to Quatre going berserk in ZERO system — was lost on him.

Why had he put himself between me and Quatre in the first place? It was a question that I’d been warring with ever since he’d vanished.

Leaving that battlefield was the hardest thing I’ve done to date. After seeing Trowa’s suit burst and his body vanish in a sea of shrapnel I wanted nothing more than to find him. Dead or not, I had to retrieve him. I couldn't leave him to the dark, lonely expanse of space. He had thought to bury me once, I wanted to show him the same consideration.

But I couldn't. With Wing ZERO to his advantage, Quatre had gone after me, forcing me back into the colony for a fruitless battle. Each attack pushed me further and further away from Trowa. By the time it was over, I had been so overwhelmed with emotion that I was anxious and shaken by the fight that I must have passed out.

I never had a chance to look for Trowa. I thought I’d failed him. By the time I came back to consciousness Quatre and I had been apprehended by OZ. The time we spent in the custody of OZ was excruciating. I couldn't focus, and I’d been so angry with Quatre that I struggled with keeping myself from turning on him.

The only thing that kept me from killing Quatre that day was Trowa's final plea to be kind to look out for him. 

None of it was Quatre's fault. ZERO could easily overwhelm a pilot. I knew this, but he had taken away the only person who’d ever given me the time of day. The only person on the battlefield I could trust...

Now our friendship was nothing, a blank space in Trowa's damaged memories.

 

 

 


	2. One Shot: Breaking The Bro Code

_One Shot_  
**BREAKING THE BRO CODE**  
  
Inspired By Prompt:   
**'Go Home, You're Drunk'**

 

“I can’t keep him tonight. No way. Last weekend he crashed at my place, and man, you should see the holes he left in my goddamn kitchen cabinets. The guy is like The Hulk when he’s hungover, okay?” Duo was pleading with me now. I’m pretty sure if he didn’t have a drooling, drunk Heero hanging off of his shoulder he would have dropped to his knees and kissed my toes.

While Duo looked absolutely pathetic, Heero looked even worse. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that _pale_ before, even when he was limp in my Gundam’s hand and dying from his mission-required self-detonation. What the hell had they been drinking?

“Please? Just this one night. I promise I’ll come pick him up in the morning.” Duo grunted as he yanked Heero’s bare arm up, attempting to keep the former Wing pilot from becoming a drunken pile of flesh on my doorstep.

I liked Heero — a lot. It was an emotion I’d been hiding for years now; something that had developed early on when I’d first met him. Heero was always off-limits, and now always distant even though we’d had a close connection during The Wars. He’d never stayed at my flat before. Hell, he’d never been _inside_ my place. I wasn’t sure I wanted to have that awkwardness in the morning; him waking up in my apartment, fucked up, possibly confused, potentially trashing my things.

“You should just take him home…” I sugested quickly, blocking the doorway to my apartment with my body, crossing my arms over my chest for good measure. Duo deflated.

“I _can’t_ , Trowa. C’mon. I took my motorcycle to the bar. I’d have to walk his happy ass back over there and try to figure out how to keep him from fallin’ off the whole ride over there. He lives in South End. The trains stopped runnin’ an hour ago, and the last time he got in a car when he was like this he barfed all over me and it cost five hundred creds in cleanin’ fees!” Heero was slipping again with his head hung forward and for a moment I wondered if he was dead, that is, until he gasped softly and shifted his feet in an attempt to stand up.

I knew Duo wasn’t lying about the car ride. For someone who was an accomplished, notorious mobile suit pilot, Heero had a tendency to get motion sickness doing practically _anything._ It made it impossible for him to be in the back seat of cars, or to ride in _anything_ unless he was in control.

I frowned. Duo frowned back. Heero coughed.

“Fine,” I conceded reluctantly, stepping aside to let Duo pass. The American quickly dragged his bombed and barely conscious baggage into my flat and dumped him onto my couch. Heero groaned as he was unceremoniously tossed, rolled onto his back and draped his arm pathetically over his eyes to block out the light from a nearby (rather dim) lamp.

“Thanks. I owe ya one,” Duo said, retreating for the door.

“You’ll come get him in the morning,” I said. It wasn’t negociable.  
  
“Yeah-yeah, sure,” replied Duo dismissively, waving his hand at me before ducking outside, letting the door slam loudly behind him.

Heero flinched on the couch. I sighed.

“Thanks,” croaked Heero dryly, his arm still over his eyes.  
  
“Do you need anything?” I asked, shuffling across the room, headed for the door to my bedroom.  
  
“... no.” He sounded weak, his throat raw.

I stopped in front of the door and glanced over my shoulder. It wasn’t often that strong, confident, self-assured Heero Yuy looked so broken.

It bothered me. Watching him sprawled out on my couch, breathing heavily, lips twitching, eyes occluded with his legs dangling off of the side of the couch, looking like a kicked puppy that the tomcat dragged in (which was a painfully accurate description of Duo), I couldn’t just _leave_ him like that, no matter how annoyed I was at being up at 3 AM with a drunk on my couch.

I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he might choke in the middle of the night on his own vomit and thought that I better roll him over and situate him before turning returning to my bed.

My sister always joked about how I was a sucker for sick things: animals, plants and people. Whenever I found something that needed help, I couldn’t walk away. It was how I'd ended up with three stray cats and a windowsill filled with formerly discarded, sickly houseplants.

It’d been a while since I’d nursed a _person_ back to health.

Ironically, that _same person_ I'd helped beforewas now sprawled out helplessly across my couch.

I rubbed the back of my neck and turned around, carefully made my way around the couch and knelt at Heero’s feet. He was wearing a pair of brown lace-up ankle boots. The laces were double knotted and neatly tucked beneath the tongue of the boot — just as he always did. For someone who used to tuck a tank top into a pair of garish bicycle shorts, Heero was now meticulous with his appearance and surprisingly fashion forward. He wasn’t flashy, but more subdued with natural colors of blues, greens and browns applied to clothing that appeared to be a mixture of modern, practical office wear and hip, functional hiking gear.

As I pulled his boots free I felt something just above his ankle beneath his slacks. A hard, nylon velcro strap. I didn’t have to look to know what it was; either a knife or a gun.

“Knife…” he murmured, reading my mind, feeling my fingers in their gentle inspection.

“On or off?” I asked.

“Off,” he replied flatly.

I slid my fingers under his pant leg and unfastened the strap, pulled it over his foot and set the knife inside one of his discarded boots.

“Any others?”  
  
“My gun,” he answered, his voice soft, “I’ll keep.”

I wasn’t going to argue with him.”I’ll get some water.” _Don’t go anywhere,_ I thought to myself with amusement before I made my way into the kitchen. I returned after filling a glass of water to see that Heero had pulled himself up to a wobbly sit. He was doubled over, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands.

“Going to throw up? I can take you to the bathroom…” I sat on the couch and held the glass out to him.

“No. Just a headache,” he muttered, moving one hand out to blindly grab the glass. “I’ll be fine. Once my head stops spinning, I’ll leave.” He took a sip, his head still down as if he were too tired to hold it up with his neck, his other hand holding his forehead.

“You can stay as long as you need to,” I replied, feeling bad for making _him_ feel guilty, even though he _should_ . Heero had been drinking to excess a lot lately. Duo regaled me with stories of drunken antics almost every week during our Thursday D &D sessions, often telling me about how smashed Heero got, and all of the stupid things he managed to convince our stoic comrade to do while under the influence. The first time I’d heard that Heero was drunk in public I thought it was a lie. It was so _unlike_ him to be so careless and lose control like that, but after the sixth story Duo told me (which consisted of Heero drunkenly walking on the railings of the tallest hanging bridge in the city and doing a one-handed handstand on the edge ‘ _for fun_ ’) I began to worry.

Something was wrong with Heero, but who was I to confront him about it? He was a grown man — he could do whatever he want.

That didn't mean I couldn't make a suggestion or two.

“Maybe you should slow down a little,” I pointed out cautiously. I had no idea how he'd take me telling him what to do. I knew that Heero was very independent. Even during Operation Meteor he did what he wanted; my role had always been as his support.

He snorted under his breath but said nothing. Maybe it was the fact that I was running on two hours of sleep, but the sound irritated me. It felt like he was brushing me off, ignoring my advice. It hurt, when had I ever wanted anything more but the best for him? Out of everyone, I think I'd proven that the most.

“Seems to me like you're still careless, that you have little regard for yourself. You may be alive, but you're still self-destructive.” I knew I was pushing my luck, but I couldn't stop myself. “You can _talk_ to me. You have friends who will listen.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” Heero grumbled, his hand rubbing against his forehead, “nothing you don't already know.”

I leaned into the back of the couch and crossed my arms over my chest.

I knew a lot about the boy they called Heero Yuy. While he had been an enigma to others, he'd been an open book to me. The weeks he was bedridden in my trailer at the circus he’d stewed in his own confusion, negative emotions and boredom. As much as people saw Duo as flighty and all over the place, Heero was that and then some. He never stayed in one place long, he never held still. He was always working on something, training, working out in a corner, bettering himself.

Being alone in my trailer, stuck in one place, had driven him crazy. He'd confided in me as much, late at night while he was feverish and writhing in pain, using conversation as a distraction from his suffering.

Everyone teased him for being quiet. He'd had a reputation for being closed off, standoffish. He was never that to me.

“Yeah. I know,” I murmured.

He glanced up at me from beneath his thick fringe of dark hair. “You don't have to babysit me. I'll be fine…” he smirked. “I won't make a mess.”

It'd been a while since I'd seen that expression; a fusion of amusement and deviousness that Heero rarely ever let anyone else see.

“I'm not worried about a _mess_ ,” I replied airily. “I'm worried about waking up to a corpse on my couch in the morning. I don't want to have to explain how the _savior_ of the planet ended up dead in my apartment.”

“You could throw me out the window, dump my body in an alleyway or something. Problem solved.”

“You’d like that,” I couldn't help but chuckle.

“You’ve no idea.” Evidently Heero's dark sense of humor was still going strong. He finally sat up and flopped back against the couch beside him, his head tilting back, biting his lower lip and sighing. I wouldn't have been surprised if the room was spinning for him. He looked like shit; handsome as ever, but a pale and disheveled mess.

“Where were you guys tonight?” I decided to keep the conversation going. At this rate I wasn't going to get much sleep anyway.

“New place called ' _The Colorful Cactus'_  or something...” Heero replied as he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking my posture.

“The _Rainbow_ Cactus,” I corrected him gently. I'd been there plenty of times as it was my favorite venue for drag shows. “That doesn't seem like your cup of tea.” Not that I would know. Maybe Heero liked to watch energetic drag performances as much as I did.

He shrugged. “It was whatever.” Apathy. A typical topic stopper for him.

“You must have had a good time. You're wasted…” I pointed out casually.

Heero smirked. “I never say no to a _free drink_.”

It suddenly occurred to me what had happened. Heero was fresh meat at the bar. I looked him over. He was in rough shape now, his shirt half buttoned and askew, hair a mess, bags under his eyes. Even still, I could imagine him walking into that place with his insufferable, endless confidence and stoic, disinterested face, dressed in his crisply ironed shirt, looking smart and mysteriously handsome.

They had been buying him drinks, and by the look of him he’d consumed quite a few.

“I bet they ate you up,” I said with a smile, running my hand through my hair and shifting in my seat. If I hadn't known him and Heero’d walked into the bar and sat beside me I would have bought him a drink, too, and by the end of the night I would have made it my mission to get him into my bed.

Unlike the rabble who frequented that club, I would have succeeded in taking him home with me, had I wanted him.

“They _tried_ ,” Heero muttered. He stretched his body out, narrow hips rising off of the couch, broad shoulders cracking before he settled into the cushions again.

When was the last time I’d been this _close_ to Heero? I saw him in passing frequently enough, mostly in group settings when we weren't at our respective jobs. Duo and Quatre were notorious for insisting that we stick together and socialize with each other once or twice a month to keep our camaraderie going. It was annoying at first, but I soon began to look forward to our meet-ups and outings. Duo often paired up with Heero, whether he liked it or not. Even though I _saw_ Heero on a regular basis we didn't talk much, and because Duo snagged him up every chance he could, I never got much one on one time with him anymore.

I looked away and found myself studying the art books on my coffee table instead of the long stretch of Heero’s tight, flat abdomen that was now exposed thanks to his random stretch. The former Wing pilot made no attempt to cover it up, but why would he? Heero was never modest or shy about his body.

“There was nobody that caught your eye?” I asked him, curious.

“Not really.” Heero tilted his head and I could feel the focus his eyes on me, moving down my body, as if he were dragging a fingertip across the lines of my torso, my crotch, my legs.

I wanted to know what he was thinking. Was he comparing me to someone he’d seen that night? Did he _like_ what he was looking at now?

I pretended not to notice, but found myself closing my body off by crossing my legs, reflexively uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.

“That's surprising. I always thought that place had a wide selection of people to pick from,” I replied.

“I'm not into random hook-ups,” Heero mumbled. He was doing something with his hand against his face. Rubbing his eye, perhaps. I didn't turn to look.

“You could have fooled me.” From what I’d heard Heero had become quite a player for both fields within the last few months. Granted, this information came from Duo, who _claimed_ that Heero had taken a few people home from their impromptu, reportedly wild bar crawls, but who knew how much of that was true. “Word on the street is that you’ve been getting your dick wet quite a bit,” I teased, trying to hide the envy in my voice.

Heero chuckled. It was an abrupt, almost unnatural sound, but God was it cute.

“Duo, right? I did have a one-night stand a few weeks ago. He was jealous, mainly because it was with a woman he had his sights set on.”

“Damn, Heero, that's cold.” It was a dick move. “Haven't you heard of the bro-code?” I turned to face him, planning on giving him a light and playful reprimand for being such an asshole. As much as Duo probably deserved it (h _e’d stolen quite a few dates from other people in his lifetime and this was more than likely karma setting in, but still…_ ) he was still in the wrong. Friends didn't steal friend’s sex.

He was staring at me, catching me off guard, forcing me into silence.

“I live by the 'bro-code’ every time I'm around _you_ ,” he said calmly, seriously, his tone somber as if he were telling me my cat was hit by a car or there was a nuclear warhead headed this way.

I was stunned but tried to play it off like I didn't understand him, testing him, wanting clarification before my mind jumped to the one (and only) conclusion.

“I don't have anyone you can steal away,” I replied, playing dumb, tightening my arms over my chest, frowning.

He smirked. Shit, he knew what I was doing; could see through my act.

“No, but _Quatre_ does.”

A chill raced over my body, and my lips pursed together while my mind erupted with a torrent of convoluted thoughts. My desires, wishes, darkest fantasies about Heero Yuy were all frothing forth, clouding my mind, making it difficult to focus on what was real and what I was simply, _hopefully_ interpreting.

He was saying he likes me? He thinks that Quatre had _rights_ over me? Has this been why he never tried to pursue me before? Is he just talking shit because he’s drunk? I tried not to let my wants get in the way of what was real here.

“Quatre doesn't care who I date,” I remarked coldly, forcing a cap over my excitement and anxiety.

“You don't really believe that,” Heero stated coolly, eyes locked onto me like a cheetah sizing up an antelope; narrow, dark, pupils dilated, intense and unblinking.

He was right.

Ever since I'd first encountered Quatre on the battlefield there was… tension. It had begun innocently enough. He’d wanted to be my friend, but I had no use for other people then. I didn’t want him around, he was a hindrance; a little rich boy playing war with his daddy’s money. However, as I got to know him we became allies. Best friends. There was still that tension, even now, but Quatre was too polite to ever address it or do anything about it, and I was never willing to pursue him.

I always felt as if Quatre could do so much better than me, and eventually he did. Now he was married, developing his empire, working toward making a perfect life for himself, with a spouse and 2.5 children. He had a stable life; a typical one. A happy one.

There was nothing _happy_ about me. We just weren’t compatible.

I didn’t know what to say. Heero was right, though, if he and I did anything — had ever pursued one another — it would hurt Quatre, and it was clear that neither of us wanted that. Our kind friend would never say so, he’d never allude to anything, and would probably only congratulate us and wish us well, but it would always be there — the elephant in the room.

“It’s getting late.” It _was_ already late. I stood, quickly putting distance between us, breaking the trance that had held our gazes together.  
  
“Yeah…” I heard him say. As I made my way to my bedroom I could see him in the corner of my eye, shifting around on the couch, sprawling his body across the cushions, folding one of his arms under his head to use as a pillow. For a moment I considered getting him blankets and a pillow but thought better of it. If I had to come back in here, I don’t think I could bring myself to leave again.

I flipped the light off as I retreated into the bedroom, kicked off my socks and buried myself beneath my blankets and pillows, smothering my face into my sheets, angrily tugging at them, trying to quell my frustrations. Heero Yuy, the guy I had been crushing on since I was a stupid teenager, was drunk, sexy, sleeping on my couch and had just inadvertently admitted to liking me. I wasn’t dreaming, was I?

I closed my eyes and tried to will sleep to overcome me. I didn’t want to think about this. Only fifteen minutes ago Heero couldn’t even _stand_ up on his own, he probably had no idea what he was saying. Either that, or this was some stupid joke. He was fucking with me, right?

Not that I would ever do _anything_ with this information. What would a relationship with Heero accomplish anyway? We wouldn’t be able to hide it for long, Quatre was as empathetic as they came. Even if it was just a fling, a one-night stand, a quick fuck, it would still be awkward. Eventually he’d find out, and the dynamic of our group would be thrown out of whack.

No. A sloppy, drunken night of pleasure wasn’t worth a lifetime of awkwardness.

I wished he would leave, and take all of his delicious temptation with him.

As if my thoughts summoned him into motion, I heard my couch creak, followed by soft footsteps through the apartment, headed for the door. A thump, a click, something shifting on the floor. What was he doing? I resisted the urge to look, instead keeping my eyes tightly lidded, curled up on my side under the covers, hoping he’d think to lock the door on his way out.

The mattress depressed behind me. I startled, and moved to sit up but was prevented from rising by a pair of strong, bare arms grappling me from behind. My momentary panic was eased by a warm breath against my ear. His breath smelled like whiskey and his body smelled familiar — warm, faint sage and cedar smell of cologne.

“Your couch sucks,” he murmured, his voice low, still hoarse. I felt his body lean into mine, shifting forward, making our torsos and legs fuse together to become flush. He was uncomfortably hot, the heat bare flesh of his chest searing through my t-shirt, warming my back. “Can I sleep here?”

 _Fuck_.

“Yeah,” I replied automatically, feeling my body melting into his arms. This was wrong. He was drunk, we weren’t supposed to cross this line, and I'd made a promise to myself not to do this, but… it felt nice to be held like this. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time that anyone else had held me this way. Normally, whenever I did hook up with someone, the roles in this position were reversed.

The last time Heero and I had shared a bed, our positions had been reversed, too. After Heero’s injury during his attempted self-detonation he had sustained quite a bit of brain swelling, which had resulted in his body being unable to regulate its own temperature. Sometimes the hot water bottles and blankets weren’t enough and I would slide into the bed and hold hug him in an attempt to blend my body heat with his. At least, that was what I had told myself at the time.

The truth was that I was starved for human contact. Catherine was always willing to dole out a bearhug or two, but I always felt guarded around here then, afraid of what I was and how she would have perceived me, had she known just what kind of killing monster I actually was.

Heero was a soldier — a monster — just like me. I learned early on that we were cut of the same cloth, and I wasn’t afraid to show him who I was on and off of the battlefield. I found myself holding him when he was unconscious for the sake of body temperature, but then continued to sleep with him off and on even after he'd regained consciousness. I needed to feel someone else, to press into him, to feel human contact and warmth.

My thoughts were interrupted by a hand against my stomach. Heero’s palm was pressed into my abdomen, his fingers splayed wide, his fingertip drawing tiny, counter-clockwise circles against the cloth of my shirt.

It was how I held _him_ back then. He was remembering, too.

He nudged his body against mine, and rested his chin into the crook of my neck, clearly making himself comfortable, sinking deeply into my mattress.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he said quietly, his voice slightly slurred. I felt his lips graze the outer shell of my ear, which made my fingers and toes tingle. “You can always tell me to stop.”  
  
His finger stopped massaging my stomach. As soon as it did, my hand found the top of his, forcing our fingers to interlock, encouraging his to continue their caress.

“Don’t stop.” My voice was surprisingly husky, almost pleading. It was embarrassing how much I wanted this, how _desperate_ I was to be there, in Heero’s arms, feeling his tiny touch against my torso.

I didn’t have to see his smile to know it was there, I could feel it against my neck. He sighed ( _happily_?), nodded and continued his small caress against my shirt.

“Okay,” he replied, sighing again, crushing my body against his own. I found myself moving back into him, wanting to disappear inside his embrace. My eyes closed, I reveled in the warmth of his body around mine, the firm muscle of his biceps coiling across my own, squeezing me firmly. I felt the heavy, steady throbbing of his heart against my back, felt his hot breath against my neck, framed by the tickle of his messy hair against my jawline.

I felt Heero’s gun, secure and hidden in his waistband, firmly pressing into my lower back. Had he been anyone else, I wouldn’t have accepted being embraced by someone who was armed. But this was Heero, the guy I’d known all of my adult life, the first stranger I'd learned to trust implicitly. The gun pressed between us was a reminder of what we were, and where we’d come from.

I was shocked at how quickly sleep seemed to come. Within Heero’s arms I felt secure — safe and wanted. The circular movement of his finger against my stomach was mesmerizing and strangely relaxing. My body was limp, my mind barely hanging on to consciousness.

I felt foggy, as if it were me that were drunk. I was caught in the twilight space in my mind; a place between consciousness and the first horizon of dreams. Had he just kissed my neck? I couldn’t be sure. I felt detached from myself, like a ghost watching helplessly as my body reacted to Heero’s. My hips were shifting, my ass grinding reflexively against the firm mound that was forming between his legs. Was his hand moving into my shorts? Yes. He was touching me, working me up, getting me instantly aroused, the contact making my lips tingle and my spine race with pinpricks of uncomfortable energy.

I knew that this was wrong. I knew it was a mistake, that it would be awkward in the morning, that shit could end up being weird between us, but I wanted it.

I wanted to believe that Heero needed this just as much as I did.

Heero was drunk, and the more he touched me, the more drunk I was getting off of my own lust.

Fuck it. All of my worries, my hesitation, my apprehensive thoughts — it all went right out of the window. I’d made up my mind. I was going to fuck Heero Yuy.

Quatre could never know.

.Complete.


	3. One Shot: Enemy In The Ranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Trowa works undercover as an OZ officer. Does Heero still trust him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was previously posted under an old account.

_One Shot_  
**ENEMY IN THE RANKS  
** (Warning: Suggested -pretend- sexual assault.)

 

“Pilot 01, you’re coming with me.” Trowa felt a tingle run up his spine as Heero stood up from the holding cell floor. It had been months since they had last seen one another and up until Heero’s capture Trowa had no idea what his status was. So when he heard that three Gundam pilots had been apprehended and were on location he had wasted no time hurrying to the nearest computer terminal to see who they were.

While he was disappointed not to see Quatre listed he was also relieved. He knew he was alright, the little blond was resourceful and able to take care of himself. OZ had originally planned to terminate all of the Gundam pilots after what they claimed would be a “quickfire interrogation process”, but after some confidential conversations with Colonel Une he managed to persuade her to hold off on that plan, much to the irritation of her underlings.

Instead he had talked Une into using one of the Gundam pilots to test one of the new mobile suit prototypes, citing their advanced piloting skills and abilities. After seeing Heero’s name on the list of hostages, he convinced her that he was the best candidate.

Trowa believed that he was, but a part of him also yearned to talk to him again. It was lonely being undercover and isolated from the rest of the Gundam team, and besides Quatre, Heero was his closest companion. The time they had spent hiding away in the circus while Heero mended had been life-altering for Trowa. Before then, he had always felt himself expendable and even with Catherine as a companion had felt completely alone. He no longer had his mercenary family, and when he traveled to space and was recruited as a Gundam pilot he never formed any meaningful bonds with anyone. Once Operation Meteor commenced he found companionship in unexpected places. Quatre and Heero were the two people who made him feel valuable.

His recent isolation made him itch for the comfort of friendship, but he also felt anxious for physical closeness. He had never allowed anyone to touch him, or let himself touch others until recently. It made him feel weak. He thirsted for Catherine’s tight embraces, Quatre’s friendly touches and Heero’s-

He cleared his throat and tried to ignore those thoughts. Pilot 02 was having a fit that Heero was seemingly, passively obeying his command. He quickly palmed a mini projector and gave the American pilot a none-too-gentle jab in the stomach to hand it secretly over to him. He could see Heero’s eyebrow quirk as he did, his dark Prussian blue eyes shifting down to Duo’s abdomen for a moment. Did he see the transfer?

Heero remained calm throughout Trowa’s attack and simply followed obediently behind him as he led him out and into the hallway, flanked by two armed OZ privates.

Trowa knew that the OZ soldiers didn't trust him, and rightly so. He had seemingly come from nowhere and had been given practically unlimited authoritative power over them. He had lied on his application to Colonel Une and had claimed to be nineteen years old, still much younger than many of the other seasoned officers under Une’s command.

He knew that if he simply dismissed the guards that it would come off as suspicious, he had to make a scene, give them a reason to think that he was handling the situation. He glanced over his shoulder at Heero, who was staring right at him, striding confidently along with his cuffed hands hanging limply in front of him.

“I don't want any trouble out of you,” Trowa said coolly over his shoulder. “We _will_ be controlling you at all times, so don’t try anything stupid.”

“If you were looking for stupid behavior, you should have taken 02 instead,” Heero replied calmly. Trowa could see his hidden amusement ghost momentarily across his serious mouth. “Though, you're lucky I'm in handcuffs and your goons are hiding behind their rifles, otherwise all three of you would be dead right now.”

Trowa tried not to smile. “Is that so? Are all Gundam pilots this reckless and pointlessly bold? Keep your idle threats to yourself, nobody wants to hear them.”

“Alright,” Heero said slowly. “You don’t look like much of a soldier to me. Nice job punching on some kid in handcuffs,” he muttered. “Who’s dick did you have to suck to become an officer?”

One of the guards snickered and then coughed, the other just smiled at the captive’s bold comment. Obviously it was a thought they had entertained as well. Trowa bit his lip, straightened his back and stopped walking. He turned around and roughly grabbed Heero by the front of his flimsy green tank top. The Wing pilot didn't even flinch.

“Listen, you fucking Colony terrorist,” he said as viciously as he could, “If you don't keep quiet I’ll give your mouth something else to occupy it.”

Trowa could see the jeering, satisfied expressions of the two OZ soldiers. Heero was glaring at him, his expression otherwise unreadable. A long, silent and tense moment passed. It ended with Heero spitting in his face.

Trowa slammed him into the wall. Heero snarled and tried to kick him but he managed to move his leg out of the way before the smaller pilot could land his blow.

“Time to teach this little shit a lesson,” Trowa murmured as he pushed Heero harder against the wall, hand fisted around the front of his shirt. The guards who flanked him both had their rifles pointed at Heero. One was nodding approvingly while the other muttered something about ‘giving it to him to teach the kid some respect’.

Trowa smirked. The guards were following his lead. It was a good sign. He had been trying to establish credibility ever since he had joined up, and now he had a chance to demonstrate his ‘loyalty’ to OZ, he just hoped that Heero would cooperate.

Roughly, Trowa wrenched the Wing pilot from the wall and grabbed him by the nape of his neck. He forced him forward to throw him off balance to keep him from kicking backwards and shoved him down the hallway. “We need somewhere to deal with this in private,” he said coldly.  
  
“Three doors down and to the right,” one of the guards supplied quickly.

Heero wasn’t going without a fight. He was stumbling forward, trying to pull Trowa along with him. He managed to regain his balance just long enough to attempt a weak donkey kick backwards. Trowa easily avoided it. Once at the door Trowa unceremoniously shoved Heero inside, forcing the smaller pilot to land on his hands and knees against the brushed steel flooring of a medium-sized storage room.

Just outside the doorway the two guards hovered, their rifles at the ready. The younger one, a fresh-faced blond, was frowning and appeared apprehensive unlike his companion who was practically grinning like a hyena, waiting for Trowa to leave him some scraps.

“I’ll… wait out here,” the guard offered, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He sidestepped the door and posted himself beside it with a frown. His companion squared his shoulders and sneered at him.

“You just don’t have the stomach for _interrogation_.” The eager guard stepped into the storage room behind Trowa, his rifle clutched in both hands, grinning from ear to ear as he addressed Trowa. “I’m ready and willing to help, sir.”

Heero was attempting to stand up. Trowa planted his boot into the small of his back and forced him to the floor again, pinning him there with his heel.

“Do I look like I need your help?” Trowa asked coldly, his eyes cutting at the guard. “Just watch the door. I’ll only need a minute.”

The eager guard was clearly disappointed and a scowl replaced his vicious grin.

“Yeah, I bet you only take a minute,” the man muttered as he sulked out of the room, the metal door slamming closed behind him.

The room was dark, the only light coming from a single wall mounted fluorescent light at the back of the room. Large shipping crates were stacked floor to ceiling in the right corner with stenciled letters signifying their colony origins, L2-D281, L1-A217 and so on. Trowa could hear the shuffling of the guard’s boots outside the door, as well as the low murmur of their discontented, muffled voices.

They weren't happy with the arrangement but hopefully he could make this convincing enough that they’d take him a little more seriously. Infiltration wasn't hard, but willing the confidence of the enemy was. It wasn't something Trowa was used to. Normally when he went undercover he kept a low profile, but OZ wasn't as simple as the Alliance forces. They kept everything under tight lock and key, their plans top secret and only known to the highest echelons of leadership. To get anything done within their ranks he had to climb the ladder and win their trust, and quickly.

It was after being promoted to OZ that he had learned of the new mobile suit testing.

He had already won the reputation of being intelligent and practical with Une, now he needed to earn some respect from her lackeys.

“Alright, kid,” Trowa said loudly so that his voice would echo through the door. “Time to learn some respect.”

He reached down to yank Heero up to his feet by the back of his green tank top. He had expected Heero to turn around and confront him about why he was there, or perhaps whisper a ‘thank you’ for getting him out of the holding cell.

Trowa hadn't expected him to spin around and punch him in the face.

Caught off guard, Trowa stumbled and fell against the inside of the door. In half a second Heero was upon him, shackled hands grabbing the front of his uniform jacket. The smaller pilot slammed him hard against the door. Trowa grunted, frowned and swung his own fist reflexively at Heero's head. The Wing pilot ducked his blow and smashed him against the door again.

Trowa panicked. Up until now he had been confident that Heero knew he wasn't serious, and that he was simply trying to make a show for the other guards but now he wasn't so sure. Heero's face appeared calm but his hands weren't letting up, and his body was stiff and on the offensive.

Trowa had no intentions of actually hurting him. Heero _had_ to know that, right?

Another smash of Trowa’s back, and this time his head, into the metal door was enough to force him to fully react. He swung his fist at Heero’s face again and this time landed his blow to his jaw. The Wing pilot was stunned, frowning. Trowa felt his hands release his jacket. He shoved Heero backwards and swung at him again, his next blow landing against Heero’s chest.

Laughter rose from the hallway. The guards were evidently enjoying the sounds of a struggle coming from the room.

Suddenly what he had originally intended as a charade soon became an all-out sparring match. Heero wasn't letting up, and despite the bruise on his cheek and his weakened stagger he attempted to land kicks and handcuffed blows on Trowa but to no avail. Trowa had gathered his wits, and he had the upper hand. A few more strikes to Heero’s torso left the other pilot against the far wall, arms hanging limply in front of him, panting with his eyes downcast to the floor.

“Do you submit?” Trowa asked loudly, attempting to keep the strain from his voice. Heero continued to stare down at the floor, seemingly refusing to answer.

“Well?” Trowa grabbed the other pilots face and roughly tilted his chin up so that Heero's dark, swirling blue eyes met with his own.

Heero smiled.

“This is the part where you _'occupy_ _my_ _mouth’,_ remember?”

Trowa blinked and then smiled back, relieved, and quickly made good on his promise, catching and holding the other pilots lips with his own.

The tension that had built up on his body released and melted away as Heero’s cool mouth parted to greet his. A quick, playful swipe of the Wing pilot’s tongue left the slightly metallic taste of Heero's mouth on Trowa’s lower lip.

This wasn't their first kiss. The only other time had been right before Heero had departed for space shortly after Heero’s battle with Zechs Merquise in Antarctica. They had retreated from the battlefield and landed in a remote area in the Horn of Africa to exchange, recover and assess the damage on their mobile suits. They had discussed sticking together but then decided that it was best for them to set off individually. Trowa had lost touch with Quatre, and so he decided to pursue leads of the blond in space. Heero never said where he was headed.

Before they had parted ways Heero thanked him for all he had done, and had abruptly kissed him. At the time Trowa had been stunned, unable to react. It ended as quickly as it began and before Trowa could stop him Heero broke the kiss, jumped into his mobile suit and took off.

Back then Trowa wasn't ready for Heero. He hadn't tried to hide the fact that he liked him, but their friendship hadn't crossed any lines until then. Heero's parting kiss had haunted him ever since, and he had promised himself that he wouldn't be caught by surprise by the Wing pilot again.

Heero tried to stop the exchange and pull away but Trowa wasn't ready for it to end. His hand slid to the back of Heero’s head, his long fingers gathering the other pilot’s messy locks, holding his head still so he could deepen their kiss. He could feel Heero smirk against his mouth, and in response the other pilot grabbed the belt buckle of his OZ uniform and pulled him closer by it.

Their kiss was by no means gentle. Trowa reveled in the force and power of Heero’s mouth against his own, the familiarity of the other youth’s smell: the earthy scent of his skin mixed with the tangy, synthetic smell of electronic components that accompanied living in the cramped quarters of a mobile suit cockpit.

Finally the seal of their lips broke. Trowa gasped for breath, his heart throbbing heavily within his chest.

“Why fight me? That was unnecessary,” Trowa whispered, his face remaining close to Heero’s.

“You're trying to convince them,” Heero replied slowly, his expression solemn. “If I didn't fight you, you wouldn’t have hit me.”

Heero's cuffed hands raised so that he could run a finger along the yellowing skin of the bruise Trowa had made on his left cheek.

Trowa frowned. Heero was right, he had no intentions of harming him. Even now he felt guilty for striking at him, even though the Wing pilot had manipulated him into doing so.

The bruise did look convincing.

“I'm sorry,” Trowa murmured, his hand gently caressing Heero’s jawline.

“Don't be. That was a good hit, by the way, though had I not been incapacitated you would be sporting two black eyes by now,” Heero whispered with a smirk, clearly amused.

“Hm, I'm not so sure about that,” Trowa replied, though he liked Heero’s cockiness.

“So, tell me, what is OZ up to?” Heero murmured, before slamming a fist into the wall behind himself. The bang echoed. Trowa startled and then realized Heero was making noise to keep the guards outside entertained.

Trowa smiled. “New mobile suits. They want to use your pilot data to supply a learning algorithm for their new AI,” Trowa explained quietly before balling his hand and punching the wall beside Heero's head, adding to Heero’s occasional slam and kick against the wall behind him.

“Hm… do they honestly believe that I'll pilot efficiently knowing this?”

“You're not supposed to know,” Trowa replied. “There are two suits. One is offensive, the other defensive-”

Heero's eyes illuminated, his expression bordering on mischievous. “Put me in the defensive suit.”

“That's the plan. Make sure to do a shitty job,” Trowa whispered next to his ear, selfishly breathing in the other pilot’s scent again.

“Understood.”

Trowa could see their new joint 'mission’ settling into Heero’s mind. The other pilot appeared determined, his eyes hardening, expression unreadable.

“Have you had enough?” Trowa asked in a plain voice, his fingers gently caressing Heero’s scalp before retreating to the front of his tank top. He grabbed one of the straps and yanked it down his shoulder to expose the faint bruising he had left on his chest.

Heero nodded. Suddenly a blossom of red erupted at the corner of his mouth. He had bitten his own lip. Trowa smirked and ran his thumb along Heero’s lip, helping to smear the blood across his cheek, smudging it across his mouth and chin.

“What color is the suit?” Heero asked, his voice barely audible. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, his strong body folding in on itself, looking uncharacteristically weakened.

“Red,” Trowa whispered.

Heero nodded. “Good.”

Trowa tried not to laugh. Of course Heero would want the flashy red one. He had accused Heero of being flashy and over the top shortly after he had woken from his self-destruction, and it had been their private, running joke ever since.

Trowa rolled his shoulders and fixed his face into a stern expression. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, walked to the door, flung it open and pulled up the zipper with a scowl.

“Let's go,” Trowa barked his order harshly, buckled his belt and stepped aside to wait for the guards to gather his 'victim’ from the floor.


	4. One Shot: Send In The Clown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa enlists the help of some of his new circus friends to tend to the Wing pilot's wounds.

_One Shot_  
**SEND IN THE CLOWN**  
(formerly 'Hypothalamus')  


 

Trowa slapped the straw from his gloved hands and studied the now towering stack of hay bales beside the horse and elephant paddock with a satisfied sigh.  It had taken nearly an hour but finally he and Germaine, the resident strongman, had managed to neatly stack the new shipment of hay and sweet-smelling alfalfa grass.

He glanced over to the ‘neighborhood’, the cluster of trailers behind the big top tent where the performers all lived, and saw that the dusty green sedan of the physician was still parked outside of his and Cathy’s trailer.

“Hey, do you need me to help you wash the elephants?” Trowa asked the handsome, burly dark-skinned man over his shoulder.  
  
“No, I think I’ve got it,” Germaine replied. “Esmeralda likes her tummy rubs, anyway. I think I’ll take my time with her today,” the man explained as he approached a nearby fence and grabbed the enormous, coarse-bristle scrub brush the size of a push broom from its lean against a nearby fence. “I’ll catch you later, clown.”   
  
Trowa nodded and watched as the man shouldered the brush and walked off toward the elephant enclosure, whistling ‘Entry of the Gladiators’ as he went.  The excited trumpeting of an elephant soon followed.

-

“Who is this boy, anyway?”  The white-faced clown asked. He tugged his wide-brimmed Sable fedora from his head and wiped the sweat from the unpainted part of his forehead with a green and white polkadot handkerchief.

“I’d rather not say,” Trowa replied slowly as he cast a worried glance at his sister, who merely stood at the foot of the bed with her arms wrapped around herself, chewing at her lower lip with worry.

“Ah, it's okay. We all have our secrets, don't we?” The clown plopped his hat back onto his head and leaned over the bed to grab Heero’s wrist to check his pulse for the fourth time since Trowa had entered the trailer.

“So what do you think, Buttons?” Cathy asked.

“Well,” the clown began, his voice less than encouraging, “I can't be sure about this, but it's hot as blazes out today and this kids body temperature seems awfully low. I think maybe he’s sustained some damage to his hypothalamus.”

Trowa frowned. It was clear that this clown was trained in medicine, but he wasn’t sure just how reliable information from him could be. “Is this something that’s reversible?”

Buttons the Clown set the unconscious Wing pilot’s arm back on the bed and turned around to face him. Despite the giant red smile painted on his white face his expression was somber.

“Maybe. It could be from temporary swelling, or it could be permanent damage. The only way to know for sure is to give it a little time,” Buttons said sadly. “In the meantime, all you can do is try to keep him warm.”

Trowa sighed and looked over the sad clown’s shoulder at his battered fellow pilot.

“I understand,” he said plainly and without hesitation. 

-  
  
A sharp knock on the door startled Trowa awake. He blinked twice as the world around him gradually came into focus. He was still in his and Cathy’s trailer and by the look of the orangish light that poured through the window blinds it was late in the afternoon. Trowa couldn’t remember having fallen asleep.   
  
The door vibrated again with another series of impatient knocks. He glanced to his right and saw that Heero was still bundled on the bed beneath a pile of thick blankets. The bruises on his jaw and forehead were now a deep purple and startlingly dark in contrast to his pale skin. He didn’t look good, and even with the hot water bottles and blankets his body temperature was still sinking a fraction of a degree an hour. 

Whoever was at the door was practically kicking at it.  Trowa jumped to his feet and rubbed the tension out of his face with a palm before opening the door.  
  
“About time, were you asleep or something?” Annie, the circus’s pretty young bearded lady, teased as she pushed her way into the trailer with an armful of thick, quilted blankets. “Max wanted me to bring these to you,” she said hurriedly as she forced what Trowa soon recognized to be horse blankets into his arms.   
  
“How’s your friend?” Annie asked conversationally as she approached Heero’s bedside. Trowa saw her reach out a well manicured hand to touch his white forehead. “His lips are a little blue, aren’t they? Huh… what’s that stuff?” She asked as she pointed to a bag of clear fluid that had been hung over Heero’s bed by a hook on the wall.   
  
Trowa set the surprisingly clean horse blankets down on the chair he had previously occupied and crossed his arms over his chest. “Buttons started him on that. He called it TPN, it’s kind of like liquid food,” he explained. He didn’t know much about what the clown-doctor had managed to set up other than it was supposed to help keep Heero alive, and that was all that mattered.   
  
“Ew, gross. They put a needle in him?” Annie asked as she crinkled her nose in disgust at the mention of Heero’s new I.V. “I hate needles.” She grabbed her five foot long ponytail, draped it over her shoulder and began to tangle her fingers through its thick mass nervously.   
  
“Thanks for the blankets,” Trowa said. He didn’t know what else to say. He was surprised at how accommodating the circus people were, though he supposed that since many of them were misfits themselves it came naturally to them to be so accepting of others. When Trowa had first joined them they had welcomed him with open arms.   
  
At first Trowa had been worried about keeping Heero in hiding at the circus, but he soon found out that circus folk never really asked questions. They were also extremely helpful and accommodating. Once people started finding out that Trowa and Cathy had a ‘friend’ recovering in their trailer a constant stream of eager visitors began to come to the door to help.

“You’re welcome! If you need more just let me know, okay?” Annie said with a smile. “Hope he wakes up soon, he’s kinda cute. How did you say he got hurt again?”

“Car accident,” Trowa replied. “He’s not the best driver…”

-

“I’m worried. What if he doesn’t ever wake up? He can’t stay here forever,” Cathy said with a frown as she twirled a lock of her reddish-brown hair on a finger anxiously.  
  
“I know,” Trowa replied as he gently wedged a newly warmed water bottle against Heero’s cool, bandaged torso.   
  
“How much longer do we give him, then?” She asked faintly. Trowa could tell it pained her to bring it up.   
  
“I’m not sure,” Trowa replied honestly. He had been avoiding thinking too much about what would happen if Heero didn’t wake up. “Buttons said he needed time.”   
  
“Yeah, I know that, but…” Cathy’s voice trailed off.   
  
“You won’t have to worry about that. I’ll take care of it. All of it,” Trowa said softly as he tucked the blankets back over Heero’s prone body. “If he dies, I’ll take care of everything.”   
  
He could see her shift uncomfortably at his words. It was clearly not a conversation that she wanted to have. “I’ve got to get ready for tonight’s show,” she muttered before she retreated out of the trailer. The door closed behind her with a loud bang.

Trowa frowned as he sat down in the chair beside the bed and found himself staring at the side of the Wing Gundam pilot’s bruised and scraped face. Despite how sick and weak he looked Trowa couldn’t help but feel like he would open his eyes at any moment.  
  
He was fascinated by him.  He hadn’t known there were other Gundam pilots like himself until Quatre had revealed himself to him. There was something comforting about being a part of a team. It was what Trowa was used to. He could always operate efficiently on his own, however life with the mercenaries had taught him that even the most capable of soldiers still needed support from time to time. He had been happy to see other Gundams like his on the battlefield. 

He hadn’t known Heero’s name until that other pilot called it out over the comlink.  He couldn’t believe that ‘Heero Yuy’ was his real name. It had to be moniker for his mission.  Trowa knew a lot about code names. How funny that this guy had a name of a famous peacekeeper, when Trowa had taken the name of someone so set on destroying it.

“Who are you, really?” He whispered.


End file.
